Hardest of Hearts
by Half.Pint.Witch
Summary: Sherlock Holmes: Cold, apathetic, brilliant. After returning from saving Irene Adler from execution Sherlock discovers a new doctor has been hired at St Bart's. Although seemingly normal on the outside, her eyes tell a different story and Sherlock finds himself drawn in to her mysterious persona, bringing with him emotion, fear and loss. Set pre-Reichanbach Fall, Sherlock/OC.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

**_Three Questions_**

_What was it like to love him? Asked Gratitude._

_It was like being exhumed, I answered. And brought to life in a flash of brilliance._

_What was it like to be loved in return? Asked Joy._

_It was like being seen after perpetual darkness, I replied. To be heard after a lifetime of silence._

_What was it like to lose him? Asked Sorrow._

_There was a long pause before I responded:_

_ It was like hearing every goodbye ever said to me- said all at once._

_-Lang Leav _

* * *

Time heals all wounds. Or so they say. Mine are still ripped open like they were inflicted yesterday. Still oozing with the blood of loss, aching with the pain of longing. Longing for what could never be, never was and never will. My name is Everleigh Rose Braxton, Ev for short; Ellie is what he would call me however. Him and only him. Our time together was short, unfinished, there was still so much more to write, but some things just can never come to pass. For a while I was afraid to admit it, but now, I say it proudly, as if it were a gift bestowed only to me. Which, in all matters of thinking it was. I love Sherlock Holmes. My thoughts drip with the regrets of never telling him those three little words, I'll never get the chance, and I will never heal. I see his face with every blink of my eyes, emerging from the darkness, reminding me of my omission. His being will echo through my mind, every thought, every decision until the day I can finally be at peace. Be with him once again.

My name is Everleigh Rose Braxton, and I love Sherlock Holmes. He was the beginning and the end of everything.

* * *

_A/N: This story has been floating in my brain for so long, I had to bring it to life. I've got so many snippets of this written I do hope I can wind them all together into a lovely story for you all. As you can tell it takes place pre Reichenbach Fall. This one will take time for updates, this story is my baby and every word has to be perfect. For those reading my Castiel story it will still be written, just possibly slower updates for both of them. I hope you stick with me for one or both; I do work a 40+ hour a week job, so my time is unfortunately limited. There will be a __**tumblr **__for this story once we get going! Photo/Gif sets of Ev and Sherlock, previews of upcoming chapters, playlists, stuff like that so I hope you'll give that a follow! Lastly, I am American, but I want this story to be to true as England as possible, so if I mess something up please please correct me! Thank you 3 _


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

You never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view- until you climb into his skin and walk around in it.

-To Kill a Mockingbird

* * *

The rain was coming down in sheets as Dr. Everleigh Braxton walked from the parking garage to the Emergency Department of St Bartholomew's Hospital in London. It was her first day on the new job and her stomach was doing flips inside her abdomen as her body trembled, which was not being caused by the cold. The rain cooled her burning cheeks as she stepped closer and closer to the double sliding doors, her anxiety building. Change frightened her more so than she thought it should. Sure everyone feared change, but to her it felt like putting her head straight on the chopping block and waiting for the axe to come down. Impending doom was the easiest way to sum it up. She'd failed at almost everything in her life, why was this going to be any different? Every perfect opportunity that had been tossed her way always ended badly, so when she had received the call she got the job at the one and only St. Bart's, her excitement quickly changed to dread. How long until this was stolen from her too? Everything else had been.

The doors slid open and Everleigh welcomed the warm, dry air that blew out from the building, disheveling her short blond hair. People bustled by her, completely unaware of her presence, only seeing what was directly in front of them. But that was the way of the world. It was always easier to only see with your eyes straight forward, the real challenge was taking the time discover, to take off the blinders and look around. Ev had learned this the hard way. So much of her life had been missed, so many memories that could have been made were never seen, a haunting regret left in their place.

She made her way to the locker rooms eager to put her mind to use at work rather then the senseless reminiscing it was torturing her with at the moment. Swiftly changing from her jeans and sweater into her scrubs, dark blue and embroidered above the left breast pocket: Dr Everleigh Braxton, M.D. She'd been out of medical school for a almost a year now but seeing those words written never seemed to get old. Through the years she'd sacrificed, lost, feared, yet all of it was worth it in the end. It was her life's greatest accomplishment, only accomplishment really, one of the few things she still had to cherish and hold dear in her heart. It had taken 8 years for her to get to where she was standing in that moment, as she let that feeling settle in as a welcomed sense of peace took her over. There was one thing she knew for certain, she was a good doctor, it didn't matter that she'd failed at every other venture she had attempted, this was the one she succeeded, excelled at and she'd be damned if anything made her believe otherwise, even herself.

With a deep breath she pushed open the door leading to the Emergency Department, wrapping her stethoscope around the back of her neck and securing a pen in her pocket, ready to face the day ahead.

The ER was large and spacious, 12 curtained off sections, 6 on each side with a block of 8 private rooms between them. At the front of the department was central command, as she liked to call it. A large 10-foot long desk with 4 computers lining it, medical admin techs manning the phones and main computer, the medical and EMS technicians seated in chairs and standing against the walls behind it. Everleigh walked over to the desk, the butterflies returning to her stomach as she eyed the group of people, all laughing and joking with one another. It was always hard to be the new person in an already established group. Would they accept her, or cast her out to the side? Everleigh had experienced both in the past, finding each to have it's own pros and cons. Being accepted brought a sense of comfort where friends would be made, fun would be had, but that lead to the possibilities of jealousy and betrayal. Being cast out immediately would make working slightly awkward, but run the agonizing possibilities of option one out the door. That was the safer option, she thought. It was a cynical outlook on life, but the view had been planted by the seeds of deceit of friends of the past, causing Everleigh to slightly hope they would just leave her be.

She gave the admin tech a small smile as she walked up to the front of the desk. The girl warmly smiled back, standing up to shake hands with Ev.

"You must be Dr. Braxton! Hello! I'm Audrey!" the girl greeted excitedly as Ev shook the girls hand.

"Yes, hello. Lovely to meet you," Everleigh replied weakly, thinking to herself what a terrible impression she must be making, talking like a scared little child.

"I'll go and get Dr. Edwards, she'll let you know everything you could need to know!"

"Thank you."

Everleigh watched the girl scurry off, laughing softly to herself at the girls enthusiasm and vigor. The other people behind the desk were all smiling warmly at her, waiting for the chance to introduce themselves. Audrey returned moments later with a second woman in tow. The woman was probably in her mid to late 40's; chin length black hair and green eyes. She was short and thin, her glasses sitting low on a slender nose. Her features were soft and welcoming, she smiled when she saw Everleigh, putting the butterflies to rest at last.

"Hello Dr Braxton, welcome!" Dr. Edwards greeted, shaking Everleigh's hand just as Audrey had.

"Hello, please call me Everleigh, or Ev," Everleigh responded with a smile.

"And you can call me Nora. It'll be just you and I on for another 3 hours, and then we'll get the other two doctors in. I know you've gotten the tour and done all the paperwork and training so I'm sure you're eager to work. You'll take beds 1-10 I'll take 11-15 and A-E. If you need anything don't hesitate to ask! Your technicians will be Sam and Lisa. Sam! Lisa! Come over here and introduce yourselves!"

A young man and woman came jogging over and introduced themselves in the same fashion as the other two, lively and happy. Everleigh relaxed more and more as the day went on, her peers welcoming her immediately onto their team. The creeping fears still lingered in the back of her mind, but by this point the only option was to deal with everything as it came. Everleigh was not the spontaneous type, for every action she needed to know the reaction, the consequence. She wanted her fate to be in her own hands, never someone else's. Not again.

* * *

Everleigh sat behind the desk in the ER; it was her third day on the job, her last before a day off. The day was uneventful, just people with the common cold, coughs and sore backs. She'd gotten to know the staff quite well over the past 3 days. She learned that her technicians, Sam and Lisa, would be on the same rotation as her, as would Dr. Edwards. This brought an overwhelming sense of comfort to Everleigh, knowing she would always be around the same people. They would get to know the other's quirks, tricks and preferences, which always made the job easier.

Sam was a bright young man, trying his best to save money to attend a school for the arts. He had a passion for acting, participating in many local plays. He was handsome, wide-eyed, excited about what the future held for him and Everleigh shared in that excitement with him. She promised to go see him in his future plays, even ran lines with him in their down time. He was a happy bubble of energy, his smile was infectious and Everleigh enjoyed having him around.

Lisa was the same age as Everleigh, 28, a mother of two, happy in the career choice she had picked. Her dark hair was always neatly styled in a braid that reached the middle of her back. She enjoyed her work at the hospital, her schedule made it so she had more time to spend with her children. Her husband worked steadily at the brewery down the road. She talked so fondly of him, her eyes lit up as soon as his name passed her lips. Everleigh remembered a time when she would speak a name and it felt as if her heart was going to burst with excitement. Now, the name caused unease in the pit of her stomach and stirred the untapped river of ire she kept so neatly dammed at the back of her mind. Ev did not feel jealousy as Lisa talked about her wedding, children and family, only sadness and fear. Sadness, for these were all things she hoped for, a loving husband, little children running around, even the thoughts of sitting idly on the couch drinking a glass of wine while watching children's shows before their bedtime made her heart skip a beat. She felt fear for herself and for Lisa. Fear that she would die old and alone, unable to find a soul to share a life with. For Lisa, she feared her life would be ripped away from her, leaving her an empty shell of the woman she once was. An empty shell like Everleigh knew she had become.

Everleigh's thoughts were cut short as the doors from the ambulance bay flew open, EMS techs rushing a man strapped to the gurney in from the rain. Everleigh leapt up and ran to Bed 1, the destination for all trauma patients. Sam and Lisa jumped with her, along with every other pair of idle hands in the section.

The man was 26, suffering from multiple gun shot wounds to the chest and abdomen. His breathing was labored even on oxygen and his blood pressure was dropping. Everleigh began barking out her orders as she assessed the damage before her. She'd done simulations so many times in school and assisted during her residency, but this was so much different. Fear guided her through her motions, not skill or knowledge, fear; fear that this mans life was dangling on a snapping rope in front of her eyes, and she was holding the knife cutting it. Her words started becoming frantic as his condition worsened, this man was going to die if she didn't buck up and do her job. Everyone around her was moving expertly around her, each knowing exactly what needed to be done, except for her. Her brain became a confused cloud of choices, none of them and all of them seeming to be the right thing to do.

When the erratic beeping of his heart went flat, her mind broke. She called for the defibrillator, ordering the first charge. She placed the paddles on the man's chest, yelled clear and sent the first wave of electricity to his silent heart, her actions fueled by adrenaline, her body going through the motions she had practiced so many times. As the flat line still blared through the room she ordered 4 more times for the charge to be increased, but there was no effect. Finally, feeling the defeat roll through her, she called the time of death at 1753, ripping her blood soaked gloves off and throwing them to the ground.

The room was heavy with sadness as the monitors were turned off, leaving the group in an unsettling silence. Everleigh felt a hand place softly onto her shoulder in reassurance, but it made no difference. The burden of guilt and failure soaked its way into every crevice of her soul. She had failed and now a man was dead. A son, brother, husband, friend, people were going to suffer because of her failure. Her chest hurt as her heart beat heavily, her eyes burned as the tears fought to escape.

"It's ok Ev, there was nothing more you could have done," she heard Nora whisper from beside her.

"If it had been any other doctor in there, he would have lived," Ev confessed, feeling as if an anvil had just been dropped onto her chest as the words escaped.

"No, you did what any of us would have done. You can't put this on yourself, you'll never make it."

"It's all my fault."

"You did your best-"

"Well my best wasn't good enough!"

Ev let the reality of those words sink in. She wasn't good enough, just like she hadn't been a good enough daughter, girlfriend, fiancée. She was never good enough. Every precious thing that had been given to her she had lost, and now this man's life was on her conscience. As she replayed the last 20 minutes through her head she saw all of the errors she'd made, mistakes that had slipped by, all from her lack of skill, knowledge and control. She'd been confident in her abilities until that moment, when everything she knew was taken control by her fears.

Excusing herself from the scene after the sheet had been draped over the man's body and face and he'd been wheeled away, she traveled quickly from the department and let her feet carry her through the halls, oblivious to where she was going, it didn't matter, just so long as it was far away from there; far away from her failure. She couldn't bear to face her colleagues, their judgment or their poor attempts to take the blame from her shoulders, where it belonged. Finally, when she knew she had traveled far enough away from the bustle of the hospital she let the tears fall. She hoped that no one heard her sobs echoing through the empty halls as she choked for air. The word failure echoed through her mind in her own voice, and the voice of every other person she'd fallen short for. She saw their faces blur past the blackness of the back of her eyelids, ending with the young John Doe. He stared menacingly at her, unable to speak as he choked on his own blood. But he didn't need to speak, his eyes spoke his emotions, she saw the fear, betrayal and loathing in his hard steely gaze.

As she regained what was left of her composure she looked up and saw where her deceptive legs had carried her, she was outside the morgue. Of course this was where her self-loathing subconscious would take her. She turned to leave that place, go home and drown her sorrows in wine, cigarettes and sleep. She walked quickly down the hall and turned the corner from which she had come, running straight into a very solid blockade. She looked up and saw a man. Tall, his dark hair falling in curls around his face, his gray eyes reading right down to her very soul. He was a thin, with high cheekbones and acute facial features, she couldn't help but think he was very handsome, in a distinguished, old-fashioned sort of way. He was clothed in a long black coat, a blue scarf wrapped neatly around his neck, black trousers and black shoes. He said nothing, but his eyes darted over her entire form, as if he was taking in every minute detail of her. She wiped her eyes quickly, a useless attempt to hide her tears knowing he'd already seen them.

"I'm-I'm sorry, excuse me," she stammered, averting her gaze to the floor.

"You shouldn't cry for the dead, Dr. Braxton. Only the living," he replied in a deep, cool voice.

She looked at him, shocked. How did he know about her dead patient? Had he been there? No, she would have remembered that face, those eyes. Was he a relative of the man's? Probably not, he didn't seem at all upset; he was far too collected for someone who had just lost a dear one. What was he doing near the morgue? He certainly wasn't dressed like a hospital employee.

"How, did you know?" she questioned softly, mostly to herself, but he had heard.

"I know, a lot of things Doctor," he responded confidently.

"Who are you?"

"Sherlock Holmes."

* * *

_A/N: Ahh I'm going to end it here! I hope you all don't mind that this chapter was so very Sherlock-less, but I wanted to start to play out Everleigh's character more. I hope you all liked it! Please review! If you liked it, hated it, want something different. Anything! It's all motivating and helpful!_

_I made the tumblr for our dear Everleigh and Sherlock, it's a little dead right now but it'll liven up soon! It's .com, follow if you'd like!_

Thank you for reading!


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

"So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past."

-The Great Gatsby

* * *

Everleigh looked again at the man in front of her, Sherlock Holmes he'd called himself. Sort of an odd name, she thought, and what had he meant, he knew a lot of things? She opened her mouth to speak, but the words didn't seem right, they weren't forming coherent sentences and they didn't make sense. As thoughts flew quickly through her mind, each seeming to be the wrong thing to say, Sherlock Holmes' grey eyes smoldered down on her, flustering her further. His face remained placid as he awaited a response, Everleigh growing more and more agitated with each blink of his dark lashes. Who was this man and what was he doing to her? She'd been reduced to an inarticulate imbecile with one look and 20 words.

"I'm assuming by your lack of a response you're quite befuddled. Normal really, I get that a lot," he spoke quickly with an air of arrogance, turning his attention away from her.

He reached into his pocket, pulling out a cell phone that was vibrating lightly in his hand. Everleigh watched as he gracefully glided away from her, stopping just far enough away to where she was out of earshot. Finally out of his steely gaze she regained her normal brain function and thankfully her ability to speak. There were two thoughts battling each other in her mind as she stared at the man in his sweeping dark coat; one was that she should leave immediately, these emotions were dangerous and something about him made her subconscious uneasy, two, she wanted to know more about him, know whatever things he claimed he had knowledge of and she hadn't felt like this in so long, although dangerous it may be, it was also reassuring. Reassuring that maybe she wasn't quite as empty as she thought she was, a heart did still beat in her chest and at this moment, as she gawked at a head of messy dark curls, it was beating very quickly.

Her thoughts were quickly banished as she watched Sherlock place his phone back into his pocket and head into the morgue without so much as a second glance at her. And she felt disappointed. She fought back the little voice in her head that told her to follow him and berate him with the questions that now flooded her mind, she heard it screaming in protest as she walked further and further from the door, further and further away from the answers she desired. The image of those piercing grey eyes flashed with each blink of her own, both haunting and enchanting.

* * *

Sherlock walked quickly into the morgue, John was irritating, calling to complain about forgetting to pick up milk. Didn't he know there were far more important things for Sherlock to put his mind to? Like discovering if a wound inflicted after death clotted the same way as one inflicted prior. Picking up milk was almost as trivial as knowledge of the solar system. He'd never live that one down. John just didn't understand that pointless facts like the Earth going round the sun had no place in a mind such as his, it did him no good. It was so easy not being Sherlock Holmes, he was sure of it.

The newly deceased bodies were laid out onto tables before him, Molly Hooper was always good about arranging things just like he preferred them to be. Starting on the left with the one who had died yesterday, Sherlock took a small pocket knife out and sliced a clean 3 inch gash into the mans side, watching the congealing blood ooze slowly from the wound. He worked his way through the other 4, finishing at a young man of 26 with multiple gun shot wounds. Sherlock smirked coyly to himself as he read the toe tag, he was right. He was always right. Dr. Everleigh Braxton had signed off on the tag, citing his death no more than an hour ago. So this was the reason the woman cried, if only she had a brain half as functioning as his she would have known there were no reasons to weep for this man. The gun powder residue on his right hand indicated there had been another victim, or intended victim, the tattoo on his left hand was that of a popular gang around London, the bruises on his side were most likely inflicted by whomever he was trying to rob, probably with a baseball bat and the light scarring of his wrists proved that he'd been arrested, and tried resisting, on many occasions. It was so apparently obvious, why didn't people just think and observe? Instead they chose to act according to their flawed moral compasses and hearts, which would get them nowhere. Facts and knowledge would always outweigh emotion, what went on in those people's funny little brains was the only thing Sherlock knew he would never understand.

"Molly!" Sherlock screamed as he took one last glance at each wound on the 5 bodies, jotting down his final findings in a small notepad.

"Yes Sherlock?" Molly answered excitedly, running from whatever part of the lab she'd been hiding in.

"I'm all finished. Thank you."

The woman nodded sadly as he brushed passed her, wrapping his scarf back around his neck. He would never understand that girl, but the effects he seemed to have over her definitely came in handy when he needed anything in the hospital, no matter how illegal it was. He felt a slight pity for her as he remembered all the awful things he'd said to her, the rude remarks and all the times he'd made her feel worthless or embarrassed. But he was who he was, and people either accepted that or they didn't, he felt no need to change, for anyone, especially not a woman. Women were cruel, manipulative creatures, so many crimes he'd investigated and the center point for them all, a woman. Irene Adler came to mind immediately. She'd drugged him, teased him and tried to make him feel inferior to her, which of course he proved to be wrong. And the reason for all her plans being ruined, years of manipulation thrown away: Love. The thought made Sherlock laugh to himself as he walked through the halls of the hospital; no one had, or ever would, get the upper hand on Sherlock Holmes.

* * *

Everleigh walked out into the cool London air. The sun was setting, making the world around her glow in the waning light. A truly beautiful ending to a terrible day, it seemed almost poetic. With shaky hands Everleigh pulled out a pack of cigarette's and a lighter from her black bag, setting a small blaze to the end. Breathing in deep she took the smoke into her lungs, letting the nicotine flow through her and calm her dizzying emotions. She felt as if her body and mind had been thrown in every direction today; happy, sad, angry, disappointed and shocked just to name a few. There was only so much a person could handle and today had been far too much. These next two days would be spent relaxing, drinking wine and catching up on mindless TV shows, the perfect remedy for any broken heart.

"May I have one of those?" a deep baritone sounded from behind her, she recognized that voice.

Sherlock Holmes stood no more than a foot behind her, his lips drawn into a tight line as he stared longingly at the half smoked cigarette in her hand. Everleigh felt the lump reforming in her throat as she watched his curls blow around his face in the light breeze. A chink in his armor she thought as she watched his cheek twitching from the tension he obviously felt. Knowing he was just as uncomfortable in that moment as she was, whether it was for an entirely different reason or not, gave her the courage she needed. She turned her brown eyes to meet his grey, the unease creeping back into her heart as she slowly held her hand out to give him what he so desired.

"When you said you know, a lot of things, what did you mean?" she asked, mustering as much confidence into her voice as she could.

"Exactly as it sounded," he responded before taking a long drag, closing his eyes and turning his face up to the sky, enjoying every sensation as the smoke coursed through him.

"A lot of things about what exactly?"

"Everything."

"What do you know about me then?"

"You're a new doctor here, working in the Emergency Department, but this isn't your first job, you've held others before this one working somewhere else in London, a small clinic or office. You suffer from anxiety and insomnia, most likely caused by something from your past that you wish you could forget but cannot. Which I'm assuming is a relationship gone badly as you find yourself single at this moment. He left you for another woman that you found him with, a friend or coworker. You live in a nice flat in the upper parts of London alone, not even a cat to keep you company. Tell me how am I doing so far? What did I get wrong? I always get one thing wrong."

She stared in horror as he quickly listed off the last two years of her life as if it had been written on her forehead. The corner of his mouth curled up into a smirk as he watched her expression change from confident, to shock, as he basked in his own glory. It was too easy. She felt her bottom lip begin to quiver as the memories she kept neatly packed away flooded her mind, jolted loose by a man she'd only just met. If he knew that much about her from a single look, the façade she so carefully played out couldn't be as effective as she'd been led on to believe it was. How much did everyone else know, how much else could they see play out in her eyes?

"How," she whispered, knowing he would hear her.

"Your scrubs are newly embroidered, not one string out of place, which means they've never been washed or worn before. You've held other jobs in the city which has given you enough money to buy a car, I know this because your shoes while they are older than the rest of your uniform, are in relatively good condition which means you don't have to walk around the city trying to hail a cab and the only places that have parking for tenants are the flats in the upper parts of London, which as a doctor you can afford. You have dark circles under your eyes, you don't sleep, haunted by the ghosts of the past, perhaps you find sleeping alone difficult. You're last boyfriend, no, fiancé, was cheating with a friend or coworker and you found them, causing the immediate end of your relationship, but it wasn't your decision. He left you, for the other woman. You would have left London had you been the one to choose to leave him, typical behavior for a woman scorned, but you're still here, so he left you. Your nails are bitten down to the quick and you jump at the slightest of sounds, hence you suffer from anxiety. Now, what did I get wrong?" he listed, staring at her through his thick brows.

"It was my cousin. He was sleeping with my cousin."

"Ah, cousin. There's always one thing."

Her eyes fell to the ground as she spoke the words. The ultimate betrayal, acted out by none other than her cousin Hannah. Their grandparents had raised the both of them, growing up as practically sisters their entire lives, and she'd found her in bed with her fiancé, Tom a year ago, three weeks before their wedding. He had also guessed correctly that it was Tom that decided to leave her, choosing instead to live with Hannah in Manchester. Everleigh had wanted nothing more then to work it out, such a naïve thought, she had loved him, or she thought she had. Looking back, the only thing that urged her to try and mend what had been long broken was to avoid the embarrassment of canceling her wedding, to have to broadcast her failure to her family and friends. A little piece of her was thankful he decided to leave, saving her from a lifetime of heartache and sadness. But that was exactly what she had now; nothing had changed, except that the place beside her in bed was empty. Which would have been worse, living a beautifully orchestrated lie, or the agonizing truth? It all felt the same to her.

"Well, this has been fun, but I must be going. Have to get milk," Sherlock said as he stepped to the curb, searching the street for a cab as he took the last drag of his cigarette.

Everleigh kept her eyes firmly placed on the sidewalk; she couldn't bear to look him in the eyes. He'd discovered almost every one of the skeletons in her closest, and she only knew his name. She was fighting every urge to cry, only because she didn't want him to see her, see the effect his words had caused. It would only bring him a higher sense of pride, she thought. There was something strange about Sherlock Holmes, strange yet alluring. He'd just blurted out her deepest darkest secrets, yet it only intrigued her more about the man. He was obviously very observant and very intelligent, maybe too much so.

"What exactly is it that you do, Mr. Holmes?" she found the voice to ask him.

"Please, Sherlock. I'm a consulting detective, the only one in the world. I invented the job," he responded as a cab pulled up to the curb, opening the door he added "Good evening Doctor, I'm sure we'll meet again."

The cab pulled off the curb and Everleigh watched as it drove away, the silhouette of Sherlock Holmes' head outlined by the setting sun. Stomping out her cigarette she turned towards the parking garage to begin her journey home.

* * *

_So this is a little shorter than I planned, but the other half is practically another chapter so I split it. I hope you guys like this one, probably not as good as the first chapter but it gets much better! Beginning stories is hard haha, I want to get to the middle! I realized the __**tumblr**__ address got deleted in the last one, but it's _**_Everleigh-Rose_**_. The plan is to have this story out every Saturday._

_Please read/review/follow/favorite I love it all! _

_Lazzyk: Thank you for your review, I read it like a bajillion times, it made me super happy!_


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

"I am intrigued by the smile upon your face, and the sadness within your eyes."

-Jeremy Aldana

* * *

Darkness had fallen over London as Everleigh pulled her keys from her bag and unlocked her front door. Her flat was quaint and homey, the perfect size for one person to live comfortably. She set her belongings on a small table in her entrance hallway before turning to her kitchen. The kitchen was large, light oak cabinets lined the eggshell walls and a small two-person bar table was pushed against the far wall with two stools tucked neatly underneath it. Everleigh walked to the white countertops and hung her head in defeat. Set before her was her white porcelain teapot and a box of her favorite evening tea, hibiscus. In the cabinets above her were her wine glasses, given to her by her grandmother, the half full wine rack just inches to her right.

The events of the day flew past her in a blur; her head was heavy on her shoulders from the weight of the past 12 hours and thanks to Mr. Sherlock Holmes, the grey clouds of her past were now setting in for the evening. Haunting, sinister and insidious these memories were, throwing more dynamite onto her already crumbling inner foundations. With a sigh she opened the cabinet and grabbed one of the large wine glasses, running her finger over the rim before sliding a bottle of pinot noir carefully out of the wooden wine rack. She was more than apt at removing the cork from the bottle, a skill mastered over the past few darkened years and nothing she was proud of. Her phone rang suddenly, breaking her from her trance. She pulled the small black piece from her pocket and looked at the caller ID. Blocked. Running through every possibility of who would be calling her from a blocked number, she cast the vibrating nuisance off onto her counter, unable to think of one person in the world she would want to talk to right now, whether she knew them or not.

She retreated slowly to the living area, taking the entire bottle of wine and her glass with her. The living area was rather small; a three seating dark blue couch faced a small TV atop a cherry wood stand. Scattered paintings and black and white photographs decorated the walls and a few bookshelves filled out the room, lined with Everleigh's schoolbooks, poetry and other novels. The focal point of the room was a black baby grand piano in the right corner. Ev sighed sadly as she took in it's dusty appearance. It had been close to a year since she'd even sat down to play, the thought of playing alone and for herself brought her more sadness than the joy of playing could bring. She'd been a skilled pianist since she had started playing at the age of six, her grandmother refused to let her give it up as she grew after recognizing her granddaughter's amazing prowess at the keyed instrument. She had participated in many piano recitals, even earning a scholarship to a very prestigious art academy. At times Ev regretted not accepting it, choosing instead to go to medical school. Her grandmother had tried to persuade Ev to take the scholarship, become a great concert pianist and maybe even write a song or two, but Everleigh's inherent longing to finally make a difference had won over. Ev looked at the music stand and saw her scribbled piles of manuscript paper containing a piece she had been working on before everything had fallen apart. Every evening she would tell herself she would work on it, even for an hour, but everyday came another excuse. Defeated, Ev left the room and headed to her bedroom.

Her bedroom was neatly decorated in white furniture and random knickknacks from her travels. Her bed was made with a quilt, made by her grandmother, that she'd had for as long as she could remember. Never in her heart would she find the courage to get rid of it. She set her bottle of wine down on the night table beside her favorite lamp. The turquoise shade was decorated with simple images of a peacock feather and set atop a base of a bronze peacock perched near the trunk of tree. She had received it as a gift from her father when she was eleven, just two years before he'd walked out on her forever, leaving a gaping hole in his place. She went quickly into the bathroom and turned her shower to as hot as she could bear to wash the troubles of the day down the drain. The hot water soothed her aching muscles as the methodical pattering of the water hitting the tub quieted her mind, giving her the greatest sense of peace she had experienced all day. With the droplets fell her sorrows, troubles and failures, leaving her a clean slate for at least a little while.

Finally, at 10:45 Everleigh laid down into bed, pouring her first of many glasses of wine and turned on her television, falling asleep hours later to the murmur of black and white reruns.

* * *

Everleigh awoke in the early hours of the gasping for air and sweat pouring from her body. The same nightmare plagued her night after night, always the emptiness, always the endless longing. Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes as she looked around her room, ensuring she was finally awake, no longer in the infinite darkness. Feeling her heart pounding in her chest told her what she was experiencing was real, the search was over, at least for now.

She looked over at the clock, 6:20 AM, which counted out to, just less than four hours of sleep. 'You have dark circles under your eyes, you don't sleep', the words of the "worlds of the world's only consulting detective" sounded through her mind. She didn't sleep, never for more than four hours, except the exceptionally rare occasion she got five. No medications, alcohol or meditative activities were ever able to provide her relief from her debilitating ailment, making each day harder then the last. 'Haunted by the ghosts of the past' Sherlock's voice echoed again, she wasn't sure these could be considered ghosts anymore, demons was more like it. Keeping her from sleep, from the activities she loved, from making friends, yes, these were much more injurious than ghosts. The things she kept hidden from the world were enough to write a book, not that anyone would read it. Angry from her inability to sleep any longer, she threw herself out of bed and readied for the day ahead. Go get tea, maybe some breakfast, go to the market, then come home and sit on her couch and watch television, maybe read a little of her book, sleep, wake up then repeat.

She'd made her way to the kitchen to put a pot of tea on and saw her cast off phone lying skewed on the counter. She checked and saw she had eleven missed calls, all from a blocked number. No voicemails or text messages. Each call was spaced exactly 13 minutes apart before they had finally given up. She cleared the history quickly from her phone, feeling an awful unease creep its way into her psyche.

Everleigh remembered a small little café she'd passed on her way into work and decided to make that her destination for breakfast that morning. She stepped inside, the bell on the door chiming happily as the door swung open, the smiles of the small staff greeting her with enthusiasm. Being around large groups of strangers always set a small restlessness into the pit of Everleigh's stomach. She knew she shouldn't, but she consistently concerned herself with what everyone was thinking about her. Not out of vanity, but out of embarrassment. Would they see the circles under her eyes, her nails bitten down to the quick, what would they assume about her from the way she talked, the way her voice tended to crack in nervousness? Even ordering a tea and muffin at the counter set the butterflies in her stomach to go off, it truly was a terrible way to live.

She found a small table in a far corner of the room to enjoy her breakfast, pulling her book of John Keats' poems out of her bag. Turning through the well-worn pages she came to one of her favorites in the book 'La Belle Dame sans Merci'.

_I met a lady on the meads,_

_ Full beautiful-a faery's child,_

_Her hair was long, her foot was light_

_ And her eyes were wild._

"Keats. Interesting choice," a deep voice sounded from beside her, "In here John!"

Everleigh looked up fearfully from the tattered pages and saw the one person in the world she never wanted to see again, yet at the same time yearned for any moment spent in his mesmerizing presence. Sherlock Holmes stood beside her table, removing his gloves from his long, slender fingers carefully. She hadn't even remembered hearing him walk up, and there he was no more than a foot away from her. The awful frog leapt back into her throat as his grey eyes turned to her, staring straight to her broken core.

"Ode to a Grecian Urn," he said, slightly enjoying watching the waves of emotions dance across her features.

"Wh-what?" Everleigh stammered, snapping the book closed.

"It's one of your favorites."

"How-"

"You've rabbit eared the page repeatedly, the corner sticks out awkwardly against the others."

She looked at him, speechless and shocked. The corner of his mouth pulled up into a small smirk at her slack jawed look, it never got old, seeing the awe people felt when he only pointed out the obvious. He studied her closely again, catching the nervousness in her jolted movements, the dark circles under her eyes were more pronounced, the corners of her eyes turned down in sadness. There was an air of mystery about her still; he couldn't place his finger on what it was. The question itched at one of the walls in his mind, what was this woman hiding?

"Oh, hello, who's this?" John Watson chimed in cheerily, breaking Sherlock of his concentration.

"I'm Everleigh," Ev greeted with a small smile, standing to shake the smaller mans hand.

He was shorter than Sherlock, with blond hair and a welcoming face. He shook her hand lightly and Ev couldn't help but feel slightly more at ease in his presence. Sherlock seemed to back off when his friend had come to join them, giving Ev a slightly larger peace of mind.

"Ah hello, I'm John. Do you two, uh, know each other?" he asked skeptically, pointing his finger between the two of them.

"We met yesterday, at St Bart's."

"Ah, are you a doctor there?"

"Yes, just started on Monday."

"Fantastic! I trained at St. Bart's, was an Army doctor for awhile."

Everleigh fell into easy conversation with John, they talked about work, different things they'd seen and treated, and all while Sherlock looked on quite unhappily, and bored. The tea came and went, numerous cups of it, and Sherlock wasn't sure how much more of this nonsensical prattling he could take. There was a case to be investigating, granted he had next to no evidence to go on, but there was more, he just had to _find _it, and sitting here listening to John talking aimlessly with a rambling blonde woman wasn't getting him anywhere.

"So how did you meet Sherlock?" John asked, causing Everleigh to clam up, and Sherlock to tune back into the conversation.

"Um, I just, ran into him. Quite literally actually," Ev answered as she grabbed at her now cold cup of tea, a hint of panic in her voice.

"Careful doctor, your vulnerability is showing," Sherlock interjected, noticing the change in her voice, her posture and mechanisms at his partner's question.

Both of their heads snapped up to stare at Sherlock, who hadn't even bothered to turn his attention towards them. Everleigh felt herself retreating back into her shell. This man was overly perceptive; it was almost an invasion of privacy. She just wanted to shout at him, tell him to leave her alone and stop doing whatever is was he was doing. But she didn't. Was it because she was too afraid to, or because deep down she didn't want him to stop? He read her like a book, and she knew he did this with everyone, she wasn't anyone special, but he knew there wasn't something quite right about her and yet he hadn't treated her any differently. He didn't treat her like some broken china doll, he treated her like he did everyone else, and that was something Everleigh wasn't used to. When most people uncovered her unsavory past they coddled her, watched their every move and word, afraid to break her further. But Sherlock Holmes knew everything, by one look, and he didn't coddle her, and she had liked that.

"Well, I should probably get going, thank you John, this was lovely," Ev announced as she stood up, John rising with her.

"Yes it was, would you like to get dinner sometime?" John asked throwing Ev off and earning a scoff from Sherlock who was still sitting in his chair, his head leaned back, eyes closed.

"Um, sure. I think that would be nice. Sherlock you're welcome to come as well."

She wasn't sure what possessed her to add that last part, but felt a slight jolt to her stomach as he slowly opened his eyes and lifted his head to look at her. Mostly she thought it was because she didn't want it to come across to John that it would be a date. He was a wonderful man, charming and kind, but she enjoyed his company too much to risk putting it on the line. She didn't feel any attraction to him and if she'd let him on to believe so she knew she'd never see him again. John laughed a little to himself at her invitation, turning his attention to the slender man behind him, looking forward to his response to her offer.

"I don't eat while I'm on case," Sherlock responded coolly, after watching her features change from relaxed to tense.

"That's not very-" she began, but was quickly cut off.

"I tell him all the time, he doesn't listen," John vented, shaking his head in annoyance.

"Ah, well, then I suppose I will see _you _later then John."

"Yes, I'll call you."

John gestured to his phone that she had placed her number into during their conversation. She bade the two men goodbye and walked outside into the morning air. Sherlock was becoming a more and more confusing figure in her mind, never in her life had she loathed and admired someone quite as much as she did him. She couldn't figure what about him was so alluring to her, his intelligence, his looks, his ability to observe and perceive, or his apparent disregard for feelings and emotions. One thing she knew for certain, those grey eyes would haunt her until the next time she saw them again.

John turned angrily to the dark haired man sitting behind him, off in his mind palace again no doubt. He needed to stop bringing him out in public, the world just wasn't ready for the cold, unforgiving apathy of Sherlock Holmes, not all of it anyway.

"Why do you have to be so rude?" John finally broke the silence that Sherlock had allowed to awkwardly set in.

"Rude? I may be veracious John, but never rude," Sherlock answered, slightly offended at John's lack of observatory skills, "Now, are you angry because I upset a woman, or because I upset a woman that you want to sleep with?"

There were few times when Sherlock left John speechless, this was one of them. And looking over at the smug look on Sherlock's face made John even more flustered. The way his hands were steepled in front of his slightly smirking lips, amusement flickering in his cold grey eyes. He wanted to punch him in the face, yes, right in the jaw, he'd done it once before and remembered the gratification he felt.

"That woman is hiding something," Sherlock thought out loud, his expression immediately changing to determination, "And I plan to find out what."

* * *

_A/N I powered through this one! So it may be slightly lacking but I hope not. Had to go into work today, boo, so I didn't have as much time to work on it as I'd hoped. _

_Please Review/Favorite/Follow, I'll love you forever! Don't forget the tumblr for the story is: Everleigh-Rose. I've been slowly making little graphics and things for when the story really gets going, which will be around chapter 5/6 as of right now! My personal blog is benny-cumberbatched, in case anyone wanted to follow, it's all Supernatural and Sherlock/Benedict haha._

_Review pretty please and give me wonderful words to look forward to!_


	5. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

"All the hardest, coldest people you meet were once as soft as water. And that's the tragedy of living."

* * *

"Table for two please," John stated merrily to a very bored looking redheaded hostess playing with her hair absentmindedly.

It had taken him a few days, but John had finally called inviting Everleigh out to dinner after her shift at the hospital. He had chosen a small, quiet bistro not far from the flat he shared with the unbearable Sherlock Holmes. The small tables were decorated with red table clothes and centerpieces of different glass votive candleholders circled by an array of silk flowers. The room was dimly lit from rustic sconces on the walls, which were alongside different paintings and photographs of scenery from London. It was a lovely place, and as an added bonus, wasn't very crowded. The hostess led the pair to a table in the corner by a large window facing the bustling street outside.

Before sitting down himself, John pulled Everleigh's chair out from the table so she could sit. So, chivalry was not dead, not yet anyway, she thought to herself. She looked outside to all the people walking by. Business men just leaving their offices, young couples walking hand in hand, children riding their bicycles up and down the gray pavement. Their lives were all progressing fluidly, moving with the ebb and flow of reality, whereas Everleigh felt as if she'd been stuck stagnant, congealing with algae, all forms of life finding it impossible to live; except the most stubborn of bacteria, the parasites, leeching on to every last living, breathing cell. It was all getting very tiresome. The sleepless nights, the endless longing, this is not what life was meant to be.

"So, how do you like working at St Bart's?" John asked as he perused the small one sheeted menu.

"Oh it's great. Never boring," Ev answered, "A little stressful, but I think that's how I'm _supposed_ to feel."

"Sherlock told me about your patient a few days ago, sorry to hear about that. It's good to know at least he was a criminal."

"What?"

"He didn't tell you?"

"No."

"That's odd. He usually loves to show off."

A young waiter came by the table, jubilantly taking their drink orders and breaking the conversation at the exact point in which Everleigh least wanted to end it. Damn that Sherlock Holmes and his over penetrating mind. Did that insufferable man know _everything_? Anger coursed through her, it would appear he knew more about her and her life than even she did. How anyone could stand to be in his presence for more than thirty seconds was a mystery to her. Except it wasn't, not entirely, for in the darkest hours of the night, as she tossed and turned, she had thought of him. She'd thought what he was like behind the mask, if he had one. Or maybe that was just exactly who he was: cold, apathetic, brilliant. He had no inhibitions, no regrets and no social etiquette. He was an enigma in a horrifically humdrum world and she breathed in his air of mystery with a baffling vigor. No matter how she tried to convince herself, she could not find herself to completely dislike the man, or lose her curiosity in him.

"What's he like? Sherlock?" she finally asked, her thirst for any information on him winning out.

"Sherlock? Um, exactly as he seems," John answered after a long pause, "He is no different at home than he is, out here."

"He's a rather interesting man."

"Interesting? Never heard him called that before. It's usually, annoying, psychopath, freak. Interesting is, nice to hear. He just takes some getting used to is all."

"He's very intelligent, hyper aware."

"You have no idea. He has a blog, The Science of Deduction. That's the best look inside his head there is. Such as how he 'deduces' which perfume a woman is wearing or the type of programmer a man is by his tie. Funny thing though, he didn't know the Earth went round the sun."

Ev and John simultaneously broke out into a fit of laughter. It was carefree and liberating. As she looked over at her new companion, a sliver of light forced it's way through the perpetual darkness, cracking the cold, dark exterior ever so slightly. She felt a new sense of happiness and ease in the presence of Dr John Watson. It had been a long time since she'd met someone who had such an impressionable way to them. Him and Sherlock were polar opposites; perhaps that was why they got along so well. John was the conscience and emotion to Sherlock's brain and intellect. It was reassuring to know Sherlock had someone keeping him in check because he needed it. Ev felt like the differences between right and wrong, good and bad, were all a gray area to Sherlock, probably not on purpose, that was just the way his mind worked.

The pair sat and drank wine, talking about working, past cases of John and Sherlock's, Everleigh's favorite being one of a murderous taxi driver. She'd felt a certain dread as John explained how Sherlock had almost taken a pill that was almost certainly poisonous. She'd imagined the scene as John retold the events, Sherlock's eyes darting quickly between two bottles and his captor's face, trying to read every minute detail, as he had done to her in the hospital. She thought of how his ego had almost gotten him killed and as she much as she wanted to say he would have been his own fault if he'd keeled over dead, she knew that if he had been wrong, Sherlock Holmes would have much rather been dead than admit he had been bested. She'd seen the man three times and she could already gather that simply from the way he talked and carried himself. So much pride, and well earned she considered as John continued his tales of Sherlock Holmes and his mysteries before a loud rapping on the window beside them interrupted the conversation.

"John! JOHN!" Sherlock yelled through the glass, slamming the side of his gloved fist repeatedly against the window.

"Oh for God's sake Sherlock, what?" John answered, looking around the restaurant embarrassed.

"There's a case John. Murder! We must go immediately."

"I'm in the middle of something."

"Murder, John, serial killer!"

John just shook his head, turning his attention away from his friend in the window, trying his best to ignore the incessant thudding of Sherlock's attempts to gain back his attention.

"Do you have to go? It's all right you know," Everleigh asked him with a small smile, knowing the answer to that already.

"No, he can wait. Or go alone even," John answered, trying to convince himself just as much as he was her.

"John," Sherlock's deep voice sounded from beside them, inside the building this time.

"Yes Sherlock?" John answered, locking his eyes on Everleigh trying his best to keep his cool.

"Are you coming?"

"I'm a little busy."  
"Yes I see that. What's her name again, Ellie?"

"Everleigh Sherlock, and since when do you forget names?"

"I don't remember things that aren't important, John. Murder, _that's_ important. I have a taxi outside waiting."

John sighed, finally looking over to his friend, his face hard with defeat. He knew he had no choice, well, he did, but he would always choose to accompany Sherlock on his case, he had to be around to keep Sherlock, amicable and well behaved. It didn't always work but at least he'd know he tried. The last thing he needed was Sherlock going off on a rampage on Anderson or Donovan; those little scuffs never did end well, for those two anyway. With a little more force than he intended to use, John threw the napkin from his lap onto the table and stood up.

"I'm sorry Ev, I hope this won't dampen any possibilities of being able to do this in the future," John stated, the annoyance in his voice clearly audible, "And I apologize for Sherlock's lapse in memory about your name."

"Of course not," she answered back happily, "Murder is always important. I understand. I don't mind, Ellie is close enough, it's fine."

Sherlock looked over at her quizzically, their eyes meeting gray on brown. Whenever he looked at her the strangest sensations of both fear and relief set in. Deep down in her heart she wanted to get to know this strange man, learn his secrets and desires, see what treasure hid beneath the layers of ice and stone. But she knew he would never allow it. He was too proud and too long ruined. Had anyone ever shown him compassion, she wondered, or tried to get past the mask?

"Well good, I'll call you later then," John chimed in, breaking the awkward silence that had settled between the three.

Everleigh nodded, breaking her eyes free from Sherlock's steely gaze. She watched the two men as they left, the unease of loneliness creeping back in.

* * *

The hospital bustled with doctor's and nurses running back and forth between beds. A large group of people had been rushed to St Bart's after a suspected single murder had gone awry, landing several people injured. The story was faulty, each person having a slightly different spin, but the main facts remained the same. A pair of men were in an alley, they had appeared to be fighting, people had assumed it was just two drunk men getting rowdy. Slowly pedestrians started to form a group, watching the scuffle, ready to intervene if necessary, when a gun was pulled and one of the men shot dead. The murderer, in an attempt to clear any witnesses to his crime, emptied his remaining bullets into the crowd before running off, injuring six of them. Two of the injured had died on scene, the other four were being cared for in the Emergency Department, two of them in Everleigh's care. Both were in stable condition and resting peacefully, with their families at their sides.

The event had brought on the worst of Everleigh's anxieties. It made her realize how fragile lives truly were; you couldn't even walk on the streets without the possibility of being killed. The face of human nature was truly hideous, but she tried to keep her faith in those who had dedicated their lives to helping others. All she ever strived for was to make a difference in one person's life, help one person see the best in themselves and set along that path.

"Dr. Braxton, the patient in room 3 is asking to see you," Sam informed her as he jogged past, grabbing a chart for the next patient to be seen by her in the waiting area.

Everleigh took in the direction of the room. Room 3 housed a middle-aged woman who had been shot in the thigh, severing her femoral artery. Everleigh had been able to stop the bleeding fast enough to save her life and her limb. She would make a full recovery. Everleigh poked her head around the curtain slowly and greeted the woman with a smile before walking in. The woman was sitting upright, tears lolling slowly down her cheek.

"Mrs. Jones, what's the matter? Do you need anything?" Everleigh cooed, placing a reassuring hand on the woman's frail shoulder.

"Who was that man? He was so rude," Mrs. Jones sobbed, placing her hands over her face.

"What man?"

"In the black coat."

Everleigh stood up straight, knowing exactly whom she was talking about. How had he gotten in here? She jogged out of the room and to the room of her second patient to find Sherlock Holmes yelling at the poor man to focus. For all the other times she had found it difficult to speak in front of him, this time was different. He was interfering with her job and those under her care, giving her the confidence she needed.

"Sherlock!" she yelled, breaking his attention away from poor Mr. Jacobson.

"Yes?" he answered nonchalantly, looking at her with annoyance.

"You can't be here."

Sherlock scoffed at her, "I'm with the police."

"No, you're not. Now please leave."

Sherlock's face took on a venomous expression. He moved with reptilian coolness as he slid from the room, looking over his shoulder at her, signaling his desire to speak with her alone. Fear settled itself into her stomach as she followed him into an empty hallway. She wasn't sure what he was going to say, or do, and she desperately wished John would round the corner and save his friend from lashing out at her. His gray eyes held no signs of life as they bore down on her, the corner of his mouth turned into a small smirk as he watched her fear dance across her eyes.

"I need to talk to those people," he spat, his voice staying at a level volume.

"I'm sorry, I can't let you talk to them while they're in the hospital. They've gone through enough alread-"

"Yes and I need to talk to them before they forget it all. The facts will only stay truthful in their minds for a few hours before their fear and desire to be pitied and glorified embellish the stories. I need the _facts_."

"I'm sorry."

"I'm trying to catch a _serial killer_! Does that not mean anything to you? This will happen again and again until I solve this!"

In that moment, Everleigh saw a small piece of the Sherlock behind the wall. His face was passionate, angry and disappointed. He needed to solve this crime, not only for himself, but also for everyone else, for people's safety. As much as this was about him and his superior intellect, it was more about the people who died because of his failure to solve the mystery. He breathed heavily as he stared at her, his face frantic, the cool exterior long broken. In that moment, she realized she had never before admired a person as much as she did Sherlock Holmes. He didn't only aid the police to boast his superiority to them, although that was part of it; he did it to save lives. Everleigh's heart swelled with respect for this man and it deepened her desires to get to know him. She looked at his face, still frantic, still disappointed and she couldn't help the need she felt to make this easier him. This man was holding the weight of the world on his shoulders, with no one to help him carry the load. He was alone.

"All right, but I need to be there while you do it," she told him quietly; thankful his features were starting to relax.

"Fine," he responded curtly.

Sherlock brushed past her, the bottom of his long coat gently hitting her legs. She followed him at a safe distance, knowing he was still seething from their conversation. He waited at the door for her, holding it open so she could walk in first. If there was one thing she did not expect from Sherlock Holmes, it was any sort of manners, and she couldn't help but give him a small smile as she passed him.

"Hello Mr. Jacobson, I need you to answer this gentlemen's questions as well as you can, all right? He's trying to catch the man that did this to you. He's very smart and if anyone can do it, it's him. His name is Sherlock," Ev introduced the brooding man behind her to the small elderly man before her, "Be nice to him," she whispered over her shoulder to the dark haired detective.

Ev listened closely to Sherlock's conversation with her patient; he seemed to be behaving much better now that she was here. His voice stayed level, even if it was heavy with annoyance at the man's slow story telling, he refrained from yelling or getting angry. When he'd gotten as many facts as he could he turned and faced her once again, his lips curled into a large, confident smile.

"They always make mistakes," he said to her before quickly walking out of the room.

"Sherlock!" she called out, quickly leaving the room, running to catch up to him.

When she'd reached him she placed a hand gently on his upper arm to stop him, causing him to freeze and look over at her defensively. He looked down at her hand on his arm and she felt his lean muscles relax under the three layers of clothes he wore. He hadn't pulled away like they both thought he would, which kept her hand lingering longer than it should have. He had to be honest; the feeling of her small, warm hand on him had a calming effect on his ever-frenzied mind. He found himself focused on the feeling, the warmth, the smell of her, lavender essential oil perfume, and the way her eyes looked at him with both concern and admiration. He hadn't noticed before how her forehead wrinkled ever so softly and her lips slightly puckered when she worried, or how small of a woman she really was. He knew she was 5'6" and around 120 pounds, but that 120 pounds was not enough, she was thin, too thin; a product of the insomnia and anxiety no doubt.

"You need to eat more," he instructed, pulling his arm from her hypnotizing grasp.

"What?" she inquired, looking away from him embarrassed.

"You're too thin. Surely as a doctor you should know this."

"I suppose, yes."

Sherlock nodded once before turning and starting down the hall, speaking, "Thank you for your help this evening. Good night," over his shoulder

Everleigh was blasted with confusion at his strange exit. Her phone ringing in her pocket broke her train of thought as to what on Earth had just happened.

"Hello?" she answered.

"Ev, it's John. You haven't happened to have seen Sherlock recently, have you?" John asked, speaking very quickly, he was obviously very shaken up about something.

"Yes actually, he just left-"

"Thank you!"

John hung up the phone before she'd had the chance to say goodbye, only racking up more questions in her mind. What on Earth was going on?

* * *

_A/N _ _Sorry about the week long delay! My laptop charger broke and I had to wait for the new one. Please follow, and review! No one reviews and it makes me very sad! And don't forget the tumblr is Everleigh-rose, I post all the updates there and soon there will be photos and gifsets once we get rolling. My personal blog if anyone at all is interested is benny-cumberbatched. Nothing exciting I promise. _

_Please Please Please review and make me super happy! If anyone has any ideas or anything they'd like to see make sure to let me know so I can see if I can add it in! Always open to suggestions! _


	6. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

"Happiness in intelligent people is the rarest thing I know."

-Ernest Hemingway

* * *

He was so close; there was just one missing piece. Damn it Sherlock, think. Dead woman, hotel, dead man, hotel, dead man, alleyway, gunfire sprayed into a surrounding crowd, flee, dead woman, park and then, nothing. It had been two weeks since the last murder and then silence. This was agonizing. He was better than this. The facts were all aligned neatly into a row, so why couldn't he figure this out. He needed a cigarette, now. Damn John and Mrs. Hudson and Mycroft, hiding the one thing he needed, taking away the one thing he had left to help him focus. 'I need a damn _cigarette_!' With a hard swing of his arm he flung the books and unopened letters scattered on the desk before him onto the hard wooden floor of his flat. He whipped his head back and forth as he searched for a hiding place not discovered by his unrelenting housemates. There was _always_ some tucked away somewhere: Billy. With a relit vigor he leapt around the armchair blocking his way and grabbed the skull always kept safely atop his mantle and flipped it upside down. No! He peered down the foramen magnum and into the hollow cranium searchingly, they were gone; someone had taken them. Again! His jaw clenched and his nostrils flared as he gently placed his most loyal friend back down onto the mantle. This was absurd, what was he supposed to do? He needed to _think_: patches. Running to the bathroom he dug through the drawers, threw everything out of the cabinets only to find an empty box, which he proceeded to crumple into a wad and throw across the small dimly lit confinement trapping him like a caged animal.

He found himself faced with two options as he stared at his smoldering reflection in the dingy mirror; one, go to the drug store and get more patches, not the favorite option, but the one he wouldn't have to make excuses for, or two, go to the corner market and get a carton of cigarettes, the cons of that being John finding them, taking them, and throwing them away. Again. He looked down at the three residual black rings on his forearm from the adhesive of the patches and scoffed. No, patches won't be enough, not three, not ten, not a whole box. He needed nicotine and he needed it quickly, and in the form of a small white stick and smoke flowing down into his lungs. Yes, decision was made, cigarettes it was.

He made his way quickly to the front door and pulled the familiar black wool of his long overcoat from the hook and set in into place on his shoulders before grabbing the dark blue scarf and tucking the ends neatly through the folded loop on the opposite side. He could hear Mrs. Hudson merrily flitting around her flat below, he would need an excuse, and one she would tell John so his suspicions wouldn't be raised. He jumped down the stairs two at a time, hoping he would be quick enough to avoid her altogether.

"Oh Sherlock!" he heard his landlady call as soon as he'd turned the front door's knob.

"Yes Mrs. Hudson?" he answered a little too rudely.

"Are you on your way out?"

"Yes."

"Could you grab me some sugar on the way home? Be a dear, my hip's been aching all day-"

"Yes."

He'd cut her off, it was rude, but he needed to leave before John got back. His time was running out and if he got caught, he'd be stuck wallowing in this misery for eternity. He quickly slid through the open and doorway and latched the heavy wooden door behind him before smiling to himself. Free at last. The corner market was a short enough walk, the perfect amount of time to chain-smoke three or four of his precious treasures on the way back.

"Hello, where are you off to?" John asked from the curb as he stepped out of a cab.

No no no no NO! This is not what was supposed to happen! Sherlock's teeth clamped together painfully as he tried to keep his face unperturbed, the tension causing his jaw to tremble slightly. His mind was far the past the point of return, if he didn't get what he so desired, he would go mad, nothing was going to deter him from this mission. Damn it John! Wait, yes, the perfect solution. His mind jumped for joy as it basked in its newest revelation. He'd gotten his last cigarette from her, surely he could get another, and it would be the perfect alibi, as long as she didn't go blabbing to John. He'd deal with that later. Once the deed was done, it was done and he could get back to thinking, deducing and finally solving this blasted case. The hospital, where Ellie, Everleigh, whatever, worked, she would have one and she would give him one. Yes, finally, something working out perfectly.

"The hospital," Sherlock answered, trying not to sound too excited while he waved to John's cabbie to wait for him.

"Oh? For what?" John inquired, sticking his hands in his coat pockets.

"I need to talk to Ellie. About the case, see if any of her patients told her information I could use."

"Oh, well I'll go with you."  
"No!"

"Why not? I didn't even think you liked her."

"I don't. I just need information. You'll just waste time trying to charm her. I'll go alone. Mrs. Hudson needs sugar, she asked me to tell you to get her some."

"No, she asked you to get her some."

"And I'm asking you."

"For God's sake Sherlock."

Enough was enough; Sherlock brushed past John and got into the cab, ignoring the look of complete frustration on his friend's face. Other people's feelings were so tedious sometimes, always changing, yet so predictable. He needed something new, someone refreshing, who would always keep him guessing and who would never settle into monotony. There was no one like that people were all the same, boring and predictable.

"St Bart's," Sherlock instructed the cabbie as he settled in to the back seat.

* * *

Everleigh sat behind the desk in the Emergency Department with Sam and Lisa, running lines with Sam for the part in War Horse he'd just been awarded. Rehearsals were set to begin in a few weeks time and Sam wanted a head start on the production. Everleigh enjoyed the downtime with her two closest companions. She hadn't felt this at ease in a very long time. For once everything seemed to be going in an upward direction. She had a very solid group forming, Sam, Lisa, John, Nora. The sensation of constantly treading water, never moving forward, always stuck fighting against the current just to stay afloat, was finally fading away.

"Dr. Braxton, there's someone up at the front desk to see you," the medical admin tech informed her as he hung up the telephone.

"Oh? Did they say who it was?" Ev questioned, unsure of who would be coming here to see her at noon on a Monday.

"No. Sorry."

As she stood up to greet her mystery visitor she ran through everyone that could possibly be on the other side of those heavy double doors. She had plans with John tomorrow evening, surely it couldn't be him, he would just call if he had to cancel, and that hardly deserved a face-to-face visit anyway. Her cousin, almost impossible, she'd never dare come see her, not after what she did. The trip was far too long for her grandparents to suffer through, no they were home, bundled up with tea and books as they always were on rainy afternoons. As she pushed her way through the swinging door, the person who awaited her was the last person she would have expected. Sherlock Holmes sat in a chair in the waiting room, mindlessly watching the woman on the TV drone on and on about the importance of regular colonoscopies after the age of 40. His dark curly hair lay slightly matted against his head, small droplets of rain still clinging to the strands like dewdrops on a spider's web. He looked so innocent sitting there, his face relaxed as he enjoyed these rare moments of peace. He took on an almost boyish appearance and Everleigh couldn't help but smile slightly to herself, the man behind the mask, a small glimpse at the vulnerability that lied under the surly comments and sarcastic tone.

"Hello Sherlock," she finally chimed, causing his face to snap back to its cold indifference.

"Hello. I was wondering if I could have a word," he stated coolly, his grey eyes locked onto hers.

"Sure. What about?"

"My case."

"All right. But I'm afraid I've told you everything, I won't be of much help."

"You'd be surprised."

She smiled a little at him as he raised his eyebrows, his own lips curling into a slight one-sided smirk. She liked the way his eyes crinkled as the corners of his mouth stretched to meet them, the slight sparkle in the icy grey.

"Shall we go outside?" he asked, gesturing to the sliding glass doors.

"Uh, sure, let me go get my coat," she answered, looking skeptically to the dreary conditions on the other side of the doors.

He watched as she walked away, letting the fake sincerity fall from his face with a groan. Conversing was tiring. He just wanted a cigarette. The rain fell outside the glass sliding doors, hitting the pavement in minute splashes one after another, mesmerizing him. Four people murdered, four locations, no apparent link between any of them. Two men, two women and only one error that has led to no new evidence, no assistance and an unsolved case, there was something else he was missing, but what was it? He'd gotten into an argument with a man in an alley and killed him, that wasn't planned. What had began as an amicable meeting ended with one of them being killed, but why? And why was he murdering all these people? What did they have, what did they know? This wasn't random, no he'd ruled that out already, this was premeditated, carefully planned and executed. Suddenly, a small hand on his forearm jolted him from deep within his mind palace, silencing the repetitive voices berating his inabilities to solve this seemingly simple case. Her brown doe eyes peered up at him, so delicate, so fragile, and entirely vulnerable. He had to admit, she did have a pretty face. Her features were soft and feminine. Her pink lips dipped slightly in the middle, contrasting well with her alabaster skin, her nose sloped slightly to a round tip, and blonde hair fell down to her jaw line, framing her face in messy disarray. She wasn't awful to look at.

"Ready?" she asked, removing her hand from his arm.

"Yes," he answered as he took his first steps towards the doors, leaving her to trail behind him.

She followed him out the doors into the cold autumn rain, the drops stinging her cheeks as they pelted against her reddening skin. She envied the man pulling farther and farther away from her with his long strides, she'd forgotten her scarf inside leaving her neck and chest open to the winds and rain, chilling her to the very core. She felt her bones shivering as she finally joined Sherlock underneath the covered sanctuary of a bus stop, thankful it's thin plastic walls blocked most of the blustering cold.

"Do you have a cigarette?" he asked her as she dug her numb hands into the warm refuge of her pockets.

"Yes,' she replied, feeling the familiar thin cardboard with what little feeling had returned in her right hand.

"May I have one?"

"Don't you ever have your own?"

"No."

"Is that why you came all this way? To get a cigarette from me?"

"Yes."

Everleigh let out a small chuckle and watched as his face grew agitated, brow furrowing before rolling his eyes in annoyance and impatience. She pulled the carton from her pocket and held it out to him, there were only a few left and he was obviously in far more need than she was. He took the box from her, his hands clad in black leather gloves and gave another crooked, eye crinkling smirk, only this time it was genuine, although to her eyes it looked exactly the same.

"You can have the rest, just save one for me," she requested as she handed him her lighter.

"Do you want it now?" he asked as his lips held tightly to the cigarette in between them, his thumb flicking the small silver wheel of the lighter.

"No, I try not to when I'm working. Patients tend to dislike the smell."

Finally, a small flame blazed from the top of the cheap blue lighter and Sherlock brought the dancing orange flare to the end of the cigarette between his lips. He felt the heat filter slowly into his mouth before inhaling deeply, embers falling like snowflakes as the paper and tobacco burned. The relief was instantaneous, he felt his nerves calm and his mind open. Thoughts flowed in from the newly opened doors, flooding the hallways and cluttered foyers. The possibilities were endless now; he'd have this case solved within an hour.

Everleigh watched him, entranced by his silent relief. His shoulders relaxed and the tension was erased from his face, giving him a more youthful appearance, similar to the one she'd seen earlier in the hospital. She saw his eyes moving rapidly back and forth beneath his closed lids, as if he were watching things fly quickly past him, his left hand and fingers moved ever so slightly at his sides, the right mimicking the movements when it wasn't holding his cigarette. She'd remembered John talk about Sherlock. How he'd sit in silence for hours, sorting through facts in his mind. She felt a certain sense of embarrassment as she watched him, feeling as if she were intruding on a very private moment. He didn't seem like a man who took comfort in showing any moment of slight vulnerability, and it peaked her curiosity as to why he was opening it up to her, if he even still remembered she was standing there.

"Thank you Dr. Braxton. You've been most helpful," Sherlock finally spoke aloud, eyes shooting open, his foot stomping the remnants of his cherished prize on the sidewalk, leaving behind an ashy black smudge.

"You're welcome and uh, you don't have to call me that," she ensured him with a playful tone.

"Goodbye Ellie."

"Bye."

Sherlock took off towards the curb, immediately pulling another cigarette from the carton. Everleigh turned back towards the hospital, a small smile growing larger on her lips. She liked that Sherlock Holmes in a strange, alluring kind of way. She'd even grown sort of fond of the surliness and arrogance that had first put her off. He had so much to offer and she hoped, deep down, that one day he may be willing to share some of it with her, no matter how many cigarettes it cost.

* * *

_A/N: Little late but it's here! The other will be out this week, got the week off of work! _

_Thank you Fat Old Sun for the review! It means a lot! They make me so happy!_

_Any suggestions, criticisms, and compliments are always welcome!_


	7. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Sometimes,/it is the most/broken/rooftops/that know the most/amazing ways/to paint/the walls with/light.

-Tyler Knott Gregson

* * *

"He's here John," Sherlock whispered to his friend beside him, "Phone Lestrade."

Sherlock's grey eyes darted left and right quickly, his senses hyper alert. He heard scratching, tapping, clicking, there were far too many smells to differentiate, it was impossible to concentrate on one thing.

"Shut up," he spat, turning his attention to John as he scrolled through his phone's contacts.

"I didn't, say anything," John replied, looking around confused.

"You were thinking. It's annoying."

"I'm stepping outside to make this call, don't do anything stupid while I'm gone."

Sherlock shot his friend an exacerbated scowl before watching him walk out of the building. What did he know? The killer was here, hiding, and he needed to find him before it was too late.

Sherlock and John had traced the killer to an old parking garage in West End. There were five floors and Sherlock had him cornered on the top level. After coming to the conclusion the third killing hadn't been intentional, the case solved itself, all within an hour, just as he'd expected. The murderer, Curtis Hamurlund, had gunned down two women and one man for one thing: prestige. How petty people truly were. This man had quite literally killed his competition. Of course, people metaphorically killed people to gain position everyday, but he hunted three people down and murdered them in cold blood. Well, his dignity would now rot in prison faster than the corpses of those he'd gunned down. People were despicable.

Suddenly, Sherlock heard a grinding sound on his left; shoes on concrete. Time was up; he needed to act now, with or without John. Keeping his eyes locked to his left Sherlock reached into his waistband and pulled out his 9mm handgun. With silence and precision he turned the safety off and readied the weapon for firing.

"I know you're here!" Sherlock shouted in an attempt to draw his adversary out from his hiding place.

Silence. This was getting boring. With practiced stealth, Sherlock began stalking to the pillars against the far left wall. He needed to put an end to this; it had gone on for long enough already, it wasn't fun anymore. Where was John? It didn't take this long to make a phone call. He kept his steps light and quiet, peering around the parked cars, hunting for his prey.

The silence was deafening, it clogged his senses and clouded his mind. Where was John? The question kept repeating in his head. As the silence weighed on, he felt himself begging for the sound of John's footsteps to resonate through the cement walls. Nothing. He continued his search down the left wall, sneaking glances in every hiding place, each one of them empty. When he'd reached the end of the wall with still not so much as a tiptoe from John or Curtis, Sherlock felt his cheeks grow hot in frustration. This was not going as it was supposed to. He should be home in his pajamas studying his newly acquired bacteria specimens under the microscope, not here searching for an inferiorly intelligent murdering idiot.

Preparing himself to start back at square one and return to guarding the elevator and stairwell, Sherlock turned on his heels. Though instead of the empty stone walkway, a pale main with bright, blonde hair greeted him.

"Hello, Mr. Holmes," the man hissed before landing a crippling blow to Sherlock's midsection, forcing him to drop his gun and keel over in an attempt to catch his breath, "I was wondering how long it would take you to figure out the little mystery."

Sherlock glared through his eyebrows at Curtis Hamurlund as he gasped for air, his chest burning with each intake of oxygen. The pulsing ache in his abdomen ruined his attempts at righting himself, even the slightest movement turned the ache to a sharp, stinging stab. His thoughts traveled to John, he didn't see him so that must mean he was safe. Still on the phone with Lestrade perhaps, or maybe waiting for him to arrive down on the ground level. Sherlock was completely alone, his weapon on the ground, nowhere in sight and a murdering lunatic standing victoriously above him. He darted his eyes back and forth, searching for his gun, it must have fallen underneath a car.

"Looking for this?" Curtis snarled, dangling Sherlock's discarded pistol in front of his eyes.

Sherlock let out a defeated sigh before the butt of his gun came crashing into his temple. He groaned as the pain seared through his entire head, the blow throwing him to his hands and knees. His blood dripped from his wound onto the pavement inches from his face, staining the porous grey crimson red. He felt the warm, wet trails it made along the side of his face and down his nose. A mix of salt and metal stung his nostrils and filled his mouth as he gasped for air. His vision was blurry as he tried to regain control of his senses, but his attempts were quickly cut short when a foot landed another deadly blow to his rib cage, causing him to fall on his side. He cradled his arms around his throbbing midsection as the pavement brutally grinded against his seeping gash. He heard the maniacal laughter of Curtis, but nothing else. John, where are you? John. John! JOHN!

Sherlock's pitiful attempts at screaming his companions name came out as inaudible mumbles, earning him more condescending laugher from Curtis Hamurlund. He would not let it end this way; this man would not get the best of Sherlock Holmes. He would not be defeated curled in a ball on the ground. With a roaring groan Sherlock pushed himself up onto unsteady feet, he swayed from side to side and back and forth as he tried to regain his footing, tried to ready himself to fight. His eyes refused to focus, his left shrouded in a hue of blurry red.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" Sherlock asked in a patronizing tone, raising his limp arms up from his sides.

Gunshots echoed through the dark, cement walls, the crack of gunpowder haunting with a tragic finality.

* * *

Everleigh watched the minutes tick by on her leather strapped wristwatch; just ten more minutes, then she could go and enjoy two days off. It seemed that with every passing hour only five minutes was taken off the clock. All the patients were cared for and waiting for test results, charting was done, she'd even cleaned the entire break room and locker room to help pass the time, but still it dragged on at an agonizing pace. Her mind floated to music for the first time in a long while. She heard the notes of her unfinished piece chiming in her head, so peaceful and soothing. Just as the melody came to her favorite part, an abrupt vibrating in her pants pocket shook her from her trance. Unknown number.

She'd been getting more and more calls from unknown numbers, never a message and always more than one call after another no matter how many times she ignored it. A creeping unease set in whenever those words greeted her, something was not right. She hit ignore, but before she could even get the phone back into her pocket it went off again. Unknown number. It had gotten to the point where she had considered calling someone about it, the police, the phone company, anyone that could give her answers, but instead chose to suffer in silence. It had worked for so many years, why would it backfire now?

Finally, the clock read 7:00 PM and Everleigh felt the life return to her once more. She bade goodbye to the shift relieving her and walked beside Sam on the way out.

"Any plans for the weekend?" he asked her, shoving his hands in his pockets as the cold October air hit them.

"Nothing. Maybe play the piano, read a book, I don't know," Everleigh replied, watching her breath cloud out in front of her, "How about you?"

"Just, reading lines."

"Ah, well, if you need any help you have my number."

"Yeah, thanks."

Ev smiled as Sam broke off and headed to the covered bus stop she'd been in earlier with Sherlock. A smile crept onto her lips as she remembered the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled and the way his baritone voice seemed to rattle her very soul. And she'd given him the last of her cigarettes. She blew her breath out in a huff at the realization she needed to go to the market to get more, this day was just never-ending. She reached her hand into the pocket of her coat, only to find it empty. She dug through both coat pockets and her bag, coming up empty handed. With an exasperated sigh the realization hit her, her car keys were sitting on the bench in the employee locker room, she remembered taking them out of her pocket just moments before leaving, and even remembered the mental note she had made herself to _not_ forget them. Good job, Ev, she thought to herself as she turned around and made the chilling walk back into the hospital.

Everleigh muttered under her breath as she trudged her way through the puddles from the rain earlier in the day, water splashing up the back of her legs. As she got closer, three police cars and an ambulance came to a screeching halt at the entrance to the ER, men yelling and the night crew rushing out into the cold with stretchers. Her interest now peaked, Ev jogged back to the building and into the growing crowd.

The first thing she saw was a man being pulled out of the back of ambulance, a sheet over his head, blood seeping through the sheet in his abdomen area. Second, John Watson was standing near a police car, talking to a 30 or so year old female dressed in a pants suit, a detective if Ev had to guess. And third, an older man, around 40, with grey hair was arguing with a tall, curly haired figure shrouded in a long black coat. Sherlock. He wasn't facing her, but he looked to be unsteady on his feet, holding on to the rear of the police vehicle he stood adjacent to. Ev made the quick decision to check on Sherlock before going to talk to John, she didn't like the way he swayed or how his shoulders seemed more slouched than normal.

"I don't need a doctor! I'm not going in there," she heard Sherlock shouting.

"Sherlock! You're bleeding from your head, that needs stitches!" the older man he was with preached as if he were talking to his son, fingers pointing and everything.

"What's going on? Sherlock are you all right? Oh good God!" Everleigh yelled as soon as she was within earshot of the two men, grimacing when Sherlock turned to face her.

He had a three-inch gash going from his temple to over his left eye, which was practically swollen shut, a purple bruise triumphing over the pale white of his skin. He hunched over slightly, his right hand holding the left side of his ribcage as his breaths came in short gasps. He looked awful.

"What happened to you?" she asked, placing a hand gently on his left cheek and turning his face to better inspect his wound.

When her skin met his, he inhaled sharply, it was impossible to tell if it was from the pain, or shock that she had so freely gone and touched him. He stared at her through bewildered eyes, his whole body tensing. Her hand was cold from being outdoors in the autumn night, soothing his throbbing cheek, her touch gentle and soft. Her face was filled with concern, her brows furrowed until they almost met in the middle, her mouth down turned and her teeth clenched. Just as it had when she'd grabbed his arm, his mind went quiet. No longer did he hear his own berating about everything that had gone wrong that evening, or Lestrade's ridiculous pleas for him to check into the Emergency Room, or John's scolding about going after the murderer alone, it was quiet. Her fingertips grazed lightly as she pulled her hand away, leaving little trails of warmth in their place. For a split second Sherlock swore he felt, longing? No, that was impossible.

"You need stitches," she told him, "Come inside and I'll do it quickly for you."

"Told you!" Lestrade yelled back with a smile as Sherlock regrettably followed Everleigh into the hospital.

They reached a small exam room at the rear of the department and Everleigh dug around in the drawers searching for a suture kit as Sherlock sat atop the paper covered table. He'd always loathed hospitals, being a patient in one anyways. The white was off putting, couldn't they paint the walls something less, obnoxious? It almost burned his eyes looking at the walls in the industrial lighting shining from above his head. His feet hung off the end table, swinging absentmindedly like a child would, causing Ev to smile as she prepared a tray to do her work with.

"So, what happened?" she asked him as she donned gloves and turned to face her very impatient patient.

"I caught a murderer," he stated, bored of her questioning already.

"Oh? The one from a week ago?"

"Yes."

"I see he did quite a number on you. How'd you end up beating him in the end?"

"John shot him through the heart."

"Oh."

He looked at her through the corner of his eye, smirking at her apparent discomfort from his answer as she wiped his cut with iodine. He spoke nothing but the truth. After he'd mustered all his strength to stand on his feet, taunting the killer to finish what he'd started, Sherlock heard gunshots fire through the garage. He'd expected to feel an immense amount of pain shoot through his stomach and chest, but instead watched as his assailant fell to the ground in a bloody heap, revealing the 'heroic John Watson' to be standing behind him, smoke still billowing from the tip of his gun.

"All right, going to numb you up, this may pinch a bit," she warned as she prepped the lidocaine in its syringe, flicking the top with her forefinger, "Why do you do it?"

"Do wha-ahh what?" he asked, stuttering his word as she pricked the needle into his already sore skin.

"Hunt down criminals, put yourself in danger like this."

"Because I'm the only one who can."

"Perhaps but, you could do so many other things with your skills and intellect, yet you choose to help people with your talents. That's very admirable in my opinion."

She gave him a small smile as she placed the syringe down and grabbed the suture needle. Admirable. That wasn't something he'd ever been called before. It was usually show off, arrogant, rude, bastard. Never had he been called admirable before. He caught himself smirking, the right side of his face lifted into a happy little smile. Before he could correct it, she'd caught sight and her smile grew until it touched her eyes. Her whole face lit up, her white teeth shined in the light, her eyes sparkled and her laugh lines broke free from below the layer of frost that encased them. It was hard not to smile along with her, but he managed to bring back his mask of apathy.

"I enjoy solving cases," he finally answered, trying his best to sound convincing.

She didn't believe him, but went along with his ploy, not wanting to make him more uncomfortable. She threaded the first line of string through his skin, carefully ensuring the skins placement to avoid causing a terrible scar. Sherlock's eyes fell as she worked slowly, his fingers jittering and his feet swinging in embarrassment. She knew there was so much more to Sherlock Holmes than she thought anyone knew. She kept her fingers light as she held his head in place, his dark curls brushing the side of her finger as she mended his broken skin, catching a glimpse of the broken man beneath the surface.

"Why do you do what you do?" he finally asked, breaking the silence.

"I want to help people. I always said I wanted to make a difference in one person's life," she answered, frowning at her words.

"Have you?"

"No."

"Being a doctor not filling your philanthropic needs?"

"I suppose not. Not yet at least."

A deep sadness settled into her heart, that gnawing, scathing feeling that she didn't matter, and never would. It was a selfish reason to be doing her profession, she knew that, but it drove her to succeed like nothing else ever would. She liked helping people, mending the wounded, healing the sick, but deep down she knew the root of her motivation; the undying need for admiration. She longed to be loved, be a beacon of light when the darkness surrounded someone; she just wanted to _matter_. She wanted to be the one someone told stories about, how she'd changed their life, made them a better person, saved them from the impending abyss, but the longer time went on, the farther into her own darkening prison she fell. She began to realize that perhaps first, she needed to be saved.

"All right, you're all done," Ev spoke quietly as she placed the gauze over Sherlock's newly acquired eight stitches.

She placed a reassuring hand on his cheek, letting it linger for a moment. His eyes closed as her warm hand held steady on his face, where had this kind of nurturing been his entire life? He'd hurt himself so many times as a child, yet today, at the age of 31, was the first time anyone had laid a reassuring hand on him. A hand to let him know they were there, that they _cared_. He swallowed hard before standing up, breaking the contact between them, banishing the corrupting thoughts from his mind. She didn't care, not about him anyways. This was her job and he had his, which was what his mind needed to focus on. Only now, he'd solved his case, leaving him prey to the stalking demons that took advantage of every break, every moment of sanctuary silence. There would be more work; no doubt he'd have an inbox full of work sitting on his desk at home. Oh, and yes, his new bacteria! Oh it was going to be a good night.

"Thank you," he said, nodding his head to her.

"You're welcome," she whispered back, the sadness setting back into her eyes.

With one last empathetic look at her, he opened the door to the exam room and left, not looking back, erasing the past thirty minutes from his mind completely.

* * *

_A/N: This one was hard! Not sure why, but I hope you guys like it. Thank you to Cassie, Breathewithme, and Gilgal185 for your kind words! You have no idea how much they mean to me! _

_Please review/follow/favorite!_


	8. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

"It's here, here in this broken hour, that the broken in me sings out to be heard.

The fractured and the severed, the sharp edged and the unglueable. Can you hear it from where you rest? Can you make out the sounds over the haunted hum of the Autumn wind?"

-Tyler Knott Gregson

* * *

Everleigh sneaked a glance across the table to the man sitting across from her and felt a pang of regret jab in her in the ribs. She'd been unbearably unpleasant all evening, knowing full well John hadn't done anything to deserve it. She had barely spoken ten words since they'd sat down in a quiet coffee shop almost an hour ago and John had stopped trying to make conversation 30 minutes in.

"All right, what's going on?" John finally asked, trying his best to hide the frustration in his voice.

"Nothing," she replied, picking up a spoon and stirring her coffee for what must have been the twentieth time.

"I'm not stupid."

She finally turned her head up to face his. His eyes were wide with worry, but his annoyance was etched into the lines around his mouth. She knew John had the patience of a saint, having to put up with Sherlock practically 24/7, and she was sure that was where all of it went. The truth was, she'd lost interest in, well everything. She'd woken up that morning covered in sweat after two hours of restless sleep. The haunting blackness had overtook her already fading mind, whatever hope she had garnered was wiped out. Her phone had nine missed calls, all from the unknown number. She felt like she was on the edge of breaking down, teetering on a cracking ledge. Only now, she hoped it would shatter, sending her falling down to rock bottom. Who cared anymore?

"I know that," she finally answered, trying her best to give him a small smile, "I'm just tired is all. Didn't sleep well last night."

"I uh, wanted to thank you for patching Sherlock up last night. I would have had to do it at home and that's never fun," John said changing the subject, his eyes still ridden with apprehension.

"Oh, yeah, no problem. He really did a number on himself there. Is he all right?"

"Sherlock is never 'all right'. He gets a few things wrong now and again. Not that he'll admit it either way."

For the first time that evening, Ev cracked a real smile, John joining her. John was the only real thing in her life at the moment. He was always there, always happy, understanding, yet she knew she needed to tread carefully. She knew John held some sort of feelings for her; the soft look in his eyes, the wayward glances but the feelings weren't mutual. The last thing in the world Everleigh wanted was a romantic relationship at the moment. There was no way she could emotionally support another person, she was barely holding herself together. Was that to say she wouldn't possibly pursue him in the future though? Whenever her mind wandered to John, it always ended at Sherlock. His grey eyes, dark curls, the cold arrogance, and the bits and pieces of him she'd caught in his rare moments of vulnerability. He was interesting and captivating, but she got the feeling not many other people felt that way about him.

"You saved his life last night," she stated, giving her companion a soft look.  
"Who told you that?" he asked her, his eyebrows crinkling together.

"Sherlock."

"He, admitted that?"

"Well, no. I just asked him how he had caught the man, especially after being so banged up, and he said you shot him through the heart."

"That blow to the head must have been harder than I thought it was."

The duo laughed again, Ev felt the weight on her chest lift just slightly, John had the tendency to do that. His lighthearted humor and wide smile made it impossible to stay in her self-wallowing misery.

"Well, I should probably get going. Do you want me to give you a ride home? I don't mind at all," Ev told her friend sadly, taking the last cold sip of her coffee.

"No it's all right, you should go home and get some sleep. It'll do you good," John replied, standing up to pull her chair out for her.

With a quick hug she bade her dearest friend good night and got into her car, not looking forward to what this night would bring.

* * *

Everleigh awoke the following morning in the same manner as the day before; drenched in sweat and heart filled with despair. Her hands were shaking as she made her morning tea, her breaths ragged. Her heart thundered in her chest, giving the berating voice a drum beat to speak in cadence with. Disappointment. Failure. Alone. Alone. Alone. She clapped her hands over her ears, but the sounds were coming from inside the walls. The echoes of her breath, the strum of her pounding heart, it had to stop. Everleigh ran from her kitchen into her living room, doing the only thing she'd ever known to calm her worsening anxiety attack.

She threw the wooden barrier up, dust spraying into the air, to reveal the long line of white and black keys. Her fingers delicately grazed over each one, their cool, smooth texture soothing. It had been so long since she'd even touched the keys to the piano, it was time to break this long, crippling spell. The baby grand welcomed her home, her fingers gracefully dancing over the keys as if she'd never stopped playing a day in her life. The melody filled her mind; calming the nerves and paralyzing the anxiety coursing it's way through her body. She began with a personal favorite, Claire de Lune; it was committed to her memory, destined never to leave. The enchanting soft hum lulled her mind into a more peaceful state, her thoughts drifted away from the debilitating horrors. She thought of her father, he'd left when she was 13, but the few memories she held before that were ones she would cherish. He had always been a happy man, his disappearance had truly hit her hard, and he had loved her. They floated on to her grandparents, the two single greatest people she had ever known. Taking her and her cousin in and never complaining, teaching them, guiding them. But they had been overwhelmed. Then to John, with his exceptional positive outlook and fierce ability to care and love, he was truly one of a kind. Finally, they came to Sherlock. The fearful child that broke through the exterior, the lonely man that hid behind the cold mask. Deep down, Everleigh knew her and Sherlock were more alike than she cared to ever admit.

After over an hour of rekindling her love of music, Ev felt herself tired again, her mind finally at rest. The only thing echoing through her mind now were the soft notes of the piano, lulling her back to sleep.

* * *

Bill, bill, bill, what? Everleigh flipped through her mail. She'd awoken refreshed and clear headed after a short nap. She discarded the bills onto her counter, ripping the ornately decorated white envelope that remained.

You are cordially invited to the joining of

Hannah Nicole Braxton and Thomas Phillips

In holy matrimony

On the 28th of September 2012.

Her resolve broke. How dare she? The cardboard save the date crumpled in Ev's fist. That backstabbing, manipulative, pathetic little bitch, this was the ultimate slap in the face. How could she even think for one moment that Ev would want to attend her wedding to _her own ex fiancé_? Her body shook with anger. As she tried to fight the tears her face grew hot, with rage, with regret, the sadness finally spilling over. She screamed, grabbing the first thing she could find and hurtling into the wall. The thin glass of her grandmother's wine glass shattered as it impacted with the wall, another following in its path. The betrayal, the pain, it was too much. Her wails boomed through the entire house, for once in her life she was glad she lived alone. This is what her life had become. A broken heap of a woman once destined for greatness, sobbing on the floor as she watched her discarded heart beating, bloody and battered. Her will to live lost.

The old saying was not true, it was not better to have loved and lost than never loved at all. She wanted to throttle the blind idiot that had said that. Or perhaps, maybe it was possible to feel that way, when you didn't have to watch your family parade around with said lost love. The thought of watching Hannah walk down the aisle to him, her family smiling and gleeful, it made her sick to stomach. She felt the bile rising into her throat. She lifted herself up onto the sink and began dry heaving before what little she had in her stomach came out, burning her throat. As her stomach heaved and her eyes watered, some clarity came back to her. She'd thrown her grandmother's wine glasses. Those had been in the family for three generations, and now they lay shattered on her kitchen floor. Another wave of anger flooded through her, only this time it was at herself.

She crawled over to the shards littering the white tile. She felt one stab into her palms, but she didn't care. The blood started seeping through the puncture wound, leaving a thin trail of blood as she dragged her hands across the linoleum. The sight was gruesome but the pain not comparable to the stabbing wound of heartbreak. She had known she and Tom were never getting back together; hell she hadn't even wanted it. She was unsure of what upset her the most, the fact that Hannah had stolen him away from her, or the fact that no matter how hard she tried to escape him, he would always be there. He was a permanent fixture in her life, reminding her of her shortcomings. She'd tried her hardest to be everything he had wanted her to be, but it was never enough. How was one expected to move on when the roadblock was never removed?

She picked up the stems of the broken glasses, running her thumb over the razor sharp edges. She watched the blood ooze from the newly torn skin, feeling as if her body and mind were completely different things. She failed to really comprehend that it was _her_ finger that was cut open. Her glazed eyes followed the drops as they fell to the floor, her delusion setting in. Her body was exhausted, her heart was broken and her mind had shut down. She was numb, she peered down at her hands, smeared with her own blood, three shards of glass sticking into the skin, but she felt no pain. She needed help. With the last ounce of strength she could muster, she grabbed her phone and called the only person she knew would come.

"Hello?"

"John…"

"Everleigh, my God you sound awful, what's happened? Are you all right?"

"No."

"Are you home?"  
"Yes."

"I'll be right there."

* * *

Sherlock and John sat in their living room, John flipped through a magazine as Sherlock perused the long list of emails clogging his inbox. Waste of time, stupid, waste of time, maybe, no, no. The cases were all so simple; he solved them just by reading the title. He needed a real case, something he could stretch his mind with, he could feel it going stagnant which would leave him with no choice but to resort to the, less desirable solutions. A stagnant mind never did anyone any good it only led to trouble. Bored! His head ached and his left eye was still slightly swollen which made looking through the microscope almost impossible. His new bacteria specimens sat idly in the refrigerator, right beside his newly acquired human brain, which also needed dissecting. Add that to the list of more things that were impossible to do. He needed a case.

When John's phone went off, Sherlock felt his spirits rise. Maybe this was something to do. He listened in on the short conversation. It was Ellie. She was unwell. No doubt John would travel alone to her flat, which left him in an even worse predicament than he was already in.

"What's going on?" Sherlock asked his friend as John rushed about collecting his belongings.

"I don't know. Something's happened at Everleigh's place," John answered, throwing his jacket onto his shoulders.

"Maybe I should come along."

"I don't think so."

"Why not?"

"You're not exactly a very comforting person to have around."

Sherlock scowled over at his friend, but he knew he was right. Sherlock had little regard for emotions, they were messy and useless, and they got in the way of seeing the truth. So many times a sobbing mother or wife, or a traumatized brother had given him misinformation; it was just all a tiresome game at this point. He watched John run down the stairs, this woman really had a hold on him. Ah the petty feelings of love, pathetic. Caring was not an advantage.

* * *

Sherlock peered into the window. There was no evidence of a break in from what he'd been able to see. John had begun sweeping up the shards of glass littering the floor, doing his part to prevent her from doing any more damage to herself. She hadn't moved a muscle since he had begun watching. Seated on the floor, knees pulled up to chest, her glazed eyes stared out the window, yet she didn't even notice he was standing looking at her through the very same one.

She did not look to John. She didn't even acknowledge him, her hands stayed limp in his as he took them into his own to assess their damage. She looked almost peaceful, her eyes seemingly focused on a small sparrow flitting to and fro on a branch that rested against the glass pane. Sherlock's eyes searched through the room, a small white card lay discarded under her table, crumpled into a tight wad, she had clearly shattered two glasses, getting the sharp remnants of her outburst embedded into her palms, her phone lay discarded to her right, blood hardening from where her thumb touched. She looked like hell. He needed to see what was on that card; the reasoning for her current state would be there. John was frantic, panicking. And why? She was fine, a little cut up, depressed, which Sherlock knew already, she'd be fine after a cup of tea and some television no doubt. But the question for her outbreak scratched at the corner of his mind, he _knew_ she was hiding something and this was at least one part of it.

This would occupy his mind at least for a little while, the great mystery of Everleigh Rose. It was time to reveal himself, John would be annoyed, but his catatonic friend probably wouldn't even notice; he needed that card.

"John," he announced, glass crunching under his shoes in the hallway.

"Sherlock! What are you doing here?" John asked, clearly very angry.

"I wanted to see if she was all right."  
"No. You didn't."

At the sound of Sherlock's voice, Everleigh snapped out of her trance. Her watery eyes turned to his and for a moment, he was horrified. All he saw was pain and suffering, he saw everything in her eyes that he worked so hard to mask in his own. Her face was red and blotchy, her hands now clean and bandaged thanks to John. He felt drawn to her and before he knew it, his feet had transported to stand directly in front of her broken, battered form. He saw the other half of himself in her, the half that wanted to break down and stop pretending that everything was all right, because it wasn't. It hadn't been for a long time. He knew his façade wasn't going to last, it was chipping away the longer he stayed near her.

"John, I think you should go find her a blanket," Sherlock suggested as he crouched down, her eyes following him.

"Yeah all right," John reluctantly agreed, walking to find her bedroom.

Sherlock could do nothing but stare at her. Her sadness was mesmerizing, reassuring. He knew his mouth hung open slightly, his eyes were telling her everything she needed to know. It was moments like this that made her heart stutter, the childlike wonder and the beautiful shattered soul she saw in his grey eyes. Neither one of them spoke, they didn't need to, their words traveled silently to one another. In that moment they felt one in the same, each suffering silently, taking comfort solely in the presence of the other. Caring is not an advantage, Sherlock repeated to himself in his mind over and over, but it did no good. Not this time. He thought to all the times as a child he'd went and cried to his brother, only to be pushed away, his parents had held no sympathy for him either. He had been truly alone in the world, and he knew she had as well. The great mystery of Everleigh Rose, perhaps the greatest mystery was not her past, but her future.

Sherlock heard John's footsteps approaching; he needed to put himself back together. He quickly stood up and walked out of the open door to her front step into the cool mid morning air. He felt all his pieces snapping back together and being swept back into the deep recesses of his soul, but he was still shaken. This girl was dangerous. This girl could be his undoing.

John stood Everleigh up gently and led her to her bed. He held her bandaged hand in his as she laid herself down. He felt like at any moment she was just going to break, physically and emotionally.

"Do you want me to stay?" he asked her softly, brushing the hair out of her eyes.

She shook her head no, catching a glimpse of a dark figure in her window. It must be Sherlock, she thought as she closed her eyes, ready to spend these next few hours in peace. She knew from that day forward neither John nor Sherlock would ever look at her the same again, whether it was for the better or worse remained to be determined.

As soon as John had taken Ellie from the kitchen, Sherlock reentered her home, remembering his original reason for going in there in the first place. He snatched the crumpled wad of paper from it's hiding spot, opening it up to reveal some sort of wedding invitation. _Hannah Nicole Braxton and Thomas Phillips_. Their first meeting came flooding back into his mind; '_it was my cousin. He was sleeping with my cousin_.' Everything made sense now.

"Ready?" John asked as he walked back into the kitchen, his eyes tired.

Sherlock nodded as he slipped the white cardboard ball into his pocket just as his cell phone started to vibrate. Lestrade. Oh good, a case.

* * *

_A/N: Whew, this one was a little heavy, hopefully good. I apologize for any grammar or spelling errors, it's 4 AM here and I've been working on it since about 5 o'clock, with frequent tumblr breaks in between… Ugh, if you guys haven't watched anything from Ben at the BAFTA's, you tube it! So adorable._

_Thank you to indescribablemusic, breathewithme, and Mandy for you kind words. Every review means more to me than I can explain, it's such a fantastic feeling. _

_Make sure you paid close attention to those last 4 little paragraphs, it's got a teeny tiny hint in there. The next few chapters are going to be exploring lots of feeeelings! Finally! We're getting into some good stuff. I have so much written for later chapters, some awful, some gut-wrenchingly adorable I can't wait to share it with you all._

_Please review/follow/favorite, it really does make me smile!_


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